Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Carvalho 2018
Carvalho 2018
Carvalho 2018
Innovative learning spaces have emerged in response to the influx of educational technologies and
new social practices associated with twenty-first-century learning. Whilst dominant narratives of
change often suggest that alterations in the designed environment for learning will result in changed
practice, on the ground educators are struggling to align their pedagogical models with new spaces
for learning, direct instruction is still common, and technologically deterministic narratives mask a
failure to engage with the materiality of learning. This article argues for a non-deterministic theory
of things in educational research and calls for a deeper understanding of the flows of matter, infor-
mation and human–thing dependence, which will render visible the heterogeneous entanglements
characteristic of innovative spaces for learning. It highlights that educational designers (e.g. teach-
ers, space planners, architects, instructional designers) are in pressing need of analytical tools cap-
able of supporting their work in ways that promote correspondence between (a) pedagogy, place
and people and (b) theory, design and practice. In response, we introduce an analytical approach to
framing learning entanglement that accounts for the artefacts, resources and tools available to learn-
ers; the choice of tasks and pedagogical models and the social roles and divisions of labour govern-
ing any given learning situation. Finally, we practically demonstrate how this approach aids in
identifying correspondence or dissonance across dimensions of design and scale levels, in both the
analysis and design of complex environments for learning.
Keywords: design for learning; educational design; entanglement; innovative learning spaces
Introduction
Innovative learning spaces emerged in response to the influx of educational technolo-
gies and new social practices associated with increasingly participatory forms of learn-
ing. Using them has resulted in calls for better alignment between the design of
educational environments and transformation in school and university curricula (Woolner,
2010; Blackmore et al., 2011; Leiringer & Cardellino, 2011; OECD, 2013; Cardel-
lino et al., 2017; Woolner et al., 2018). However, many educators are struggling to
align their pedagogical models with these new spaces for learning (Beetham &
Sharpe, 2013; Scott, 2015; Singh & Hassan, 2017). Despite widespread recognition
that ‘the “transmission” or lecture model is highly ineffective for teaching twenty-first
*Corresponding author. Institute of Education, College of Humanities and Social Sciences, Massey
University, Private Bag 102 904, North Shore, Auckland 0745, New Zealand. E-mail: l.carvalho@
massey.ac.nz; Twitter: @lucila_fdc
century competencies and skills’ (Scott, 2015, p. 1), direct instruction, inauthentic
assessment and rote learning are still common across many contexts, although these
practices are not specific to particular sectors or subject areas. For example, in uni-
versities, lectures are still common in the early stages of undergraduate courses, and
in schools some subject areas are more likely than others to adopt project-based or
inquiry-based approaches. What is more, deterministic accounts of tools and spaces
for learning tend to focus on identifying generic and decontextualised properties of
tools or spaces, without considering the qualities of the objects themselves, and how
these, in turn, may influence people, their values and purposeful action.
In this article, we argue that those involved in educational design (e.g. teachers, space
planners, architects, instructional designers) need analytical tools capable of increasing
the correspondence between (a) pedagogy, place and people and (b) theory, design and
practice. When we speak of correspondence, we draw on the work of Tim Ingold
(2013), who contrasts interaction with correspondence, which he illustrates with a sim-
ple sketch: two fixed points with an arrow between them—representing interaction—
and two lines issuing from each of these points that flex in response to movement in the
other—representing correspondence. Understanding how we use this term is important
for two reasons. First, our work is deeply rooted in material accounts of situated learn-
ing activity, which means we are not satisfied by descriptions of learning in which the
role of materials is either absent or overly deterministic. Second, our aim is to under-
stand the learning whole in action, which means we are always concerned with how
changes in one aspect of the learning environment are expressed in another.
Materials, once unquestioningly described as unchanging, are now more often
described as fluid. But this general state of flux is not new. Things (objects, thoughts,
practices) and people have always been subject to cycles of growth and decay (Hod-
der, 2012, 2014). What is new is the rate at which they change, which has altered our
perception of their relative stability (Thomas & Brown, 2011; Sewlyn, 2014). It is
therefore not surprising that many of these new things have been termed disruptors,
because they have radically reordered how we make our way in the world—whether
working, travelling, shopping, banking, reading, writing, resting, staying connected,
learning to stay healthy, learning to solve problems or just learning to muddle
through. What is more, these alterations in daily life are not neutral. They reveal val-
ues and highlight the challenges associated with acting in accordance with these val-
ues. This values-based underpinning of design is often overlooked when it comes to
educational design—or design for learning—and this makes bridging the theory–
praxis divide difficult (Goodyear et al., 2006). Our aim, when working with educa-
tional designers, is to support the articulation of a shared epistemology of learning
and develop creative ways of keeping it visible through the design process, in the final
design, and in ongoing teaching and learning practice.
Learning has traditionally been described in terms of a change in behaviour or cog-
nitive processes, with a focus on demonstrating a unidirectional transfer of a stable
body of knowledge. However, this definition no longer reflects what is known about
how people learn, nor does it reveal the complexity of orchestrating or navigating the
diverse assemblage of tools, tasks and people required to demonstrate knowledgeable
action in the world. In calling for a richer conceptual repertoire, S€alj€ o (2009) high-
lights the role of time, situatedness and reciprocity between individuals and cultural
categories. A matrix offers cross-mapping and scale levels but cannot account for
time, and a flow chart or process map can be subject to the challenges associated with
causality, theorisation and time.
Despite these challenges, in our work we chose to use a framework and a derivative
grid for representation to guide both the analysis and design of complex learning envi-
ronments. This choice is a function of our commitment to producing knowledge that
is actionable. The etymology of frame is ‘framian’ (to be useful or make ready for
use), and a framework is defined as a basic structure underlying a system, concept or
text (Oxford English Dictionary online). As such, we present the activity-centred analy-
sis and design framework (Goodyear & Carvalho, 2014) with the aim of illustrating
both its explanatory power and its ability to support design for learning by connecting
learning activity to the designable elements of any learning situation.
The work of Alexander et al. (1977) originated in the field of architecture where,
through the pairing of recurrent architectural problems with potential solutions, they
created what they referred to as design patterns. Each pattern contains a written nar-
rative of a single problem-solution, and a rationale and description of one way to
address the issue of concern. Together, a collection of patterns forms a pattern lan-
guage. In laying out their pattern language, Alexander et al. (1977) started with the
global, because these are the patterns that conceptually order scale, shape and con-
nection. These Level I (macro) patterns frame the broad context for the design and
are built through the cumulative acts of a community over time. Level II (meso) pat-
terns detail the shape or structure of things, or groups of things, and the spaces
between them. Level III (micro) patterns provide the details for Level II patterns and
can be built in a single act by an individual.
In Table 1, under the header for each dimension of design is a prompt to articulate
a specific high-level philosophy of learning, with particular reference to that
dimension of design. This part of the wireframe enacts ideas from the pedagogical
framework proposed by Goodyear (1999), where correspondence between philoso-
phy, high-level pedagogy, strategy and tactics is discussed. The positioning of the
high-level philosophy in the first cells of the ACAD wireframe is intentional and
addresses something that is often overlooked in educational design work: the fact that
design is inherently value-based. Unless this is explicitly addressed, it can be difficult
to bridge the theory–praxis divide (Goodyear et al., 2006). This is particularly rele-
vant when working with heterogeneous teams of educational designers, including a
range of teachers, working alongside space planners, instructional and architectural
designers and others.
Our intention is to support correspondence between dimensions of design (left to
right) and scale levels (top to bottom). However, reaching consensus about a shared
epistemology of learning in these diverse teams is the crucial first step, and failing to
do so often results in dissonance across scale levels and/or dimensions of design. A
common example of this type of dissonance arises when, instead of clearly articulating
epistemologies of learning upfront, project user groups start with aspirational visions
of newness (macro-epistemic) that drive design briefs for innovative buildings and
technology (macro-set) which, if enacted in the presence of hierarchical organisa-
tional forms (macro-social), can result in aesthetically pleasing environments that
speak of newness but fail to give rise to the desired quality of learning activity. That is,
when working towards coherence, everything is on the table, and a desire for collabo-
ration and a need for compliance are often at the heart of dissonance. We argue that
this challenge can be addressed through an exploration of the material properties of
the designed environment and the quality of learning activity they support.
At its simplest, dissonance is easy to identify when imagining a project-based tuto-
rial held in a raked lecture theatre for 250 people, or a lecture delivered in a flat-floor
computer lab for 120 people. But face-to-face learning activity is increasingly less
homogeneous. It is not difficult to imagine the need to switch between periods of indi-
vidual reflection, whole-group presentation, small-group bench work, individual/
group computer use and face-to-face collaboration, without having to allocate chunks
of time for students to move between venues. Increasing demand for access to learn-
ing environments characterised by diverse space typologies highlights the importance
of understanding how lines of sight, acoustics, group orientation and a shared internal
or external focus of attention can be said to support valued learning activity.
In summary, the ACAD wireframe (Yeoman, 2015, 2018) is a representational tool
for thinking about where and how we learn. It offers a simple outline that calls for a
clear articulation of learning theory and directs attention to those elements of any
learning situation that are open to alteration through design, across multiple scale
levels. On a practical level, it acts as a visual aid to investigate a single element of one
dimension, without losing sight of the learning whole. At a theoretical level it acts as a
translation device (Bernstein, 2000) that helps designers to operationalise the concep-
tual underpinnings of the ACAD framework (Goodyear & Carvalho, 2014), the peda-
gogical framework (Goodyear, 1999) and Alexander et al.’s (1977) pattern language.
Having examined the theoretical evolution of this approach and how the properties
and spatial configuration of this tool support a certain quality of design activity—be it
analysis of what is or design of what is to come—in the next section, we extend the
reach of this approach by exploring the role of materials and the entanglement of
humans and things in activity, before illustrating the power of our approach in action.
Representing entanglement
People’s interactions with tools are not neutral; they are influenced by goals and
guided by implicit suggestions embedded in the design of tools that support percep-
tion, thought and action. But to stop at affordance—what this tool can do for me—is
to perpetuate what Ingold (2011) refers to as object blindness or what Devall and Ses-
sions (1985) refer to as a shallow ecological perspective. Materials are neither mute
nor inert; their properties influence the quality of any interaction, and this results in
complex webs of (enabling) dependence and (constraining) dependency between
humans and things (Hodder, 2012). This is important when it comes to design for
learning, because if we subscribe to situative and embodied theories of learning, then
we need good ways of theorising how the properties of a particular tool can be said to
support a desired quality of learning activity. What is more, it is not only learners who
are influenced by the properties and spatial configurations of the tools available to
them. Educational designers are subject to similar influences. These ideas are founda-
tional to our research, which involves creating tangible analytical tools to facilitate the
work of educational designers.
We draw on perspectives peripheral to education to help us understand what it
really means to say that learning is situated, embodied and distributed. After all,
archaeologists and anthropologists have well-established methods for studying the
role of tools in individual and collective human activity. Describing the efforts of
others to examine the increasing complexity of human life in terms of networks,
meshes, mixes, chains and engagements, Hodder (2014) observes a tendency for
archaeologists to speak in terms of the enchainment of humans and things, and for
sociologists to speak of interpersonal relations. In contrast, those working under the
banner of actor–network theory (Latour, 1988; Knorr Cetina, 1999; Law, 2002)
reveal how things—such as engines, measuring instruments and laboratory probes—
are enrolled in the structuring of social relations. This work has affected a widespread
shift towards relationality more generally (Law & Hassard, 1999; Latour, 2007). As a
consequence, the dualisms of agency and structure, human and non-human, knowl-
edge and power, before and after, material and social are no longer taken as given or
fixed, but as the effects or outcomes of assemblages. This shift has been so marked
that ‘it is now accepted that human existence and social life depend on material things
and are entangled with them: humans and things are relationally produced’ (Hodder,
2014, p. 19). However, both Hodder (2012, 2014) and Ingold (2011, 2012) remain
critical of purely relational approaches, because such approaches often demonstrate a
cultivated disinterest in the very things they study, their relations to other things and
the ecologies of things within which they exist and function. That is, many of these
relational approaches to materiality work within a shallow or use-value notion of eco-
logical or systems thinking. Rather than networks or meshworks, Hodder (2012) pro-
poses a dialectical tension between enabling dependence and constraining
dependency, resulting in what he calls sticky entrapment—a state in which choices,
once made, limit the range of subsequent opportunities for future action. This sticky
independence, a willingness to reach or dig deep, and respect for tools that did not
limit their appropriation in creative teaching and learning practice.
A lesson in 24-hour time. It’s the end of a two-week numeracy cycle. This means con-
cepts have been presented, set work has been completed, and most are working indepen-
dently on extension tasks selected from their online learning environment. To my left, Ms
Talbot is working with a small group of eight children still struggling with the concept of
24-hour time. She gets them up on their feet in pairs and asks each to describe what they
would be doing at x am and x pm respectively. The pairs get side tracked. Their linear
arrangement leads to confusion about where morning ends and night begins, and they are
more interested in talking about variations in bedtime than they are about the distinction
between 8 am and 8 pm. She thanks them, sits back down and waits for them to settle.
Looking from the students seated in front of her, towards her Caddie (portable storage) in
the corner, it appears she wants to fetch something but doesn’t. Following her gaze, I see
that Ms Collier is talking to a student who is visibly upset and they are standing alongside
the Caddie. Turning back, I see Ms Talbot is biting her lip and I feel sorry for her. Not for
want of trying, this group has made little progress. Remarkably undaunted, she stands and
walks across the carpet to the wall behind me, where she helps herself to the clock. Armed
with the clock and three whiteboard markers, she sits down amongst the group and slowly
makes her way around the perimeter writing the ‘missing’ 24-hour equivalent at each hour
marker (see Figure 2). Visibly caught up in the moment, the group is sharply focused as
they annotate this newly inscribed clock face with actions relating to either the 12 or 24-
hour time. After a time, she cleans the clock and writes four questions across the centre,
the students quietly answer them in their workbooks. Once they are finished, she asks dif-
ferent individuals the 24-hour time at which they do each of these things. This time they
are less distracted by discrepancies in individual routines and are clearly engaged with the
mechanics of calculating the 24-hour equivalent of each response. The lesson comes to an
end. It is recess. The clock is placed face up on an ottoman and as students from other
groups make their way out they pause to have a look, consider the current time in 24-hour
time, and move on. The clock sits there for a number of days before it is cleaned and
returned to its home on the wall, without any fuss. (pp. 306–310)
To demonstrate how the ACAD framework and wireframe help to (a) identify ele-
ments of design that are open to alteration and (b) explore how their properties and
spatial configurations give rise to emergent learning activity, we completed Table 2
based on the moment described in the vignette. Completing the entire grid is a form
of discipline. One’s analysis may focus on a very specific question at the macro-social
level, but taking the time to add something to each cell honours a commitment to
more holistic accounts of learning and lays the groundwork for connecting the prop-
erties and spatial configurations of materials to emergent learning activity. One could
start with any one of the nine cells in this three-by-three grid, but to illustrate our
point we will start with the micro-set. This is the point at which the teacher captures
her students’ attention and works towards understanding by annotating the face of
the clock with a whiteboard marker. The crux of this moment is when the teacher
combines narration with annotation using her voice, her hand, the marker and the
analogue clock face (micro-set). However, the corresponding details of the tight-knit
group formed around her—with bated breath and laser focus—as she ‘defaces’ the
clock (micro-social), and the realisation that these students have come to the end of a
two-week cycle and are still struggling with the concept (micro-epistemic), complete
the picture.
The presence of the analogue clock and whiteboard markers was not remarkable.
What was remarkable, was the interplay between the elements as this moment played
out. Given the group this teacher was responsible for (micro-social), she was able to
reframe an abstract mathematical task (micro-epistemic) using a concrete analogue
representation (micro-set). These actions were supported by access to empty space
for just-in-time workshops (meso-set) and a suite of competency-based independent
online tasks (meso-epistemic) that freed teachers to work with groups of students as
and when they needed assistance (meso-social). All of this was supported by corre-
spondence at the macro level in terms of set design (mobile, flexible learning environ-
ment), epistemic design (research-based practice in teams driven by interest) and
social design (a distributed leadership style that valued innovation).
This episode illustrates correspondence across dimensions of design and scale
levels, but it is not difficult to anticipate where the sticking points might be on another
day in this space, or in an altogether different space. Something as simple as not being
able to find a working whiteboard marker, or something a little more complicated—
such as different social norms governing the use of writable surfaces, could stifle the
emergence of this quality of learning activity. But it is not only access and availability,
or use value, that is illustrated here, because there is something fundamentally mate-
rial at play in this example. Had this particular clock face been dark rather than white,
digital rather than analogue, or permanently fixed to the wall, this critical moment of
learning activity would not have emerged. In exploring this vignette using the ACAD
wireframe, we have begun the task of connecting elements of design to emergent
learning activity. What the matrix structure is less able to accommodate is the notions
of time and the complex skill set required to navigate conjunctural moments in which
repair work is necessary to restore or establish a valued quality of learning activity.
For this, we will return to Hodder’s (2012, p. 217) theory of entanglement:
Entanglement + fittingness + conjunctural event ? problem ? fixing ? selection
? E0 (total entanglement)
elements come together when designing for learning. These analytical tools assist
educational designers in tracing the interplay between elements across a number of
dimensions (set, epistemic, social), as they consider design choices across scale levels
(macro, meso, micro), helping them to anticipate problems or explore unintended
consequences with respect to the learning whole, illuminating how alterations in the
designed environment can be said to shape emergent learning activity.
Conclusion
Fenwick et al. (2011) note that sociomaterial studies of education challenge the cen-
trality of human processes in learning, in favour of the materiality of learning. This
claim, they say, does not come at the expense of the personal but seeks to treat the
material and the human symmetrically in order to explain how entities, knowledge,
other actors and relations of mediation and activity converge in learning. As such,
sociomaterial studies of learning explore relations between entities through which
activity occurs, rather than the individual entities themselves. In doing so, they trace
the ever-shifting web of interaction that holds these processes together, all the while
shaping their properties and interactions without relegating the environment to an
inert backdrop to the main act of life or, in this case, education. What becomes clear,
through the lens of a sociomaterial approach, is that increased connectivity and par-
ticipation in networked structures gives rise to an increased dependence, which drives
the need to understand the relations between constituent parts. However, in this arti-
cle we have argued that if all we do is explore the relations between constituent parts,
we run the risk of failing to explain how the parts relate to the whole and how these
parts can be said to support valued learning activity. What is more, in returning to our
depiction of learning as emergent, the challenge lies in understanding how the proper-
ties and spatial configuration of materials can be said to give rise to emergent learning
activity.
Acknowledgements
Foundational work for this article was carried out by both authors under the guidance
of Professor Peter Goodyear and with the generous support of the Australian
Research Council (ARC) Laureate Fellowship (FL100100203). In addition, Pippa
Yeoman’s contributions to writing this article were supported by the ARC Discovery
Grant (DP150104163).
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